


Conscious And Unconscious Competence

by thural



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thural/pseuds/thural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>>team dad & big baby explore the limits of each others' patience using huge yaoi hands among other things</p><p>okok for real: this is a story about murasakibara atsushi and kiyoshi teppei becoming who they were meant to be, and also coming on who they were meant to come on</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The day before the operation.

**Author's Note:**

> might not actually be the parody fic one set out to write

He came in the afternoon before the operation. Himuro was with him, carrying a premature get-well bouquet of lilacs and greenery. It was Murasakibara, though, who filled the whole doorframe and came right up to the bed. He had a slow, dumb, mean look on his face and he rolled his eyes down at Kiyoshi Teppei the way crows size up a place to land. Dangling from his arm was a bag of snacks from which he munched freely without offering anything to anyone else.

Himuro put the flowers on the table near the door and murmured some kind of well-wishing to Kiyoshi.

"Thanks, Himuro."

Murasakibara stared down at him from the other side of a crunchy chocolate-dipped cookie. Kiyoshi stared back mildly from beneath his thick brows.

"I heard," Murasakibara finally said, when the silence had persisted long enough to be uncomfortable, "Maybe the surgery could make it worse." The sentiment rolled off his tongue pleasurably.

Kiyoshi answered with a clear, warm smile, unperturbed. "I'm gonna play again, don't worry."

Murasakibara dug around in his bag and pulled out another cookie. In his huge hand it looked absurd, like the toy treats they make for little girls. Gently he balanced it upon the kneecap of Kiyoshi's elevated leg.

"I'm gonna go play right now, is that all right?"

Kiyoshi tucked a hand behind his head. "Have a good game, Murasakibara."

"Not that I care." Came the reply, grunted over Murasakibara's shoulder as he turned to go. Himuro managed to look apologetic or scandalized, and said a proper farewell with a bow before he chased after his teammate. Once they had gone Kiyoshi took the cookie off his knee and put it on the side-table, and went back to staring out at the fresh afternoon sky through the window. A game, huh. Yosen was playing a spring exhibition game. He wondered where they would be in a year. But he, Kiyoshi, would be far behind by that point.

The visit had cheered him up. He figured that had probably not been the point, which cheered him up even more. That big ape was still upset. Even if it took two years of training to get back to where he started, he'd still built the team that beat Murasakibara Atsushi. He'd come back from this.

That night Yosen won by a near shut-out, 94-8, but Kiyoshi wouldn't hear about it until a few days later.


	2. Recovery, day 9

"Welcome back."

The reply to this friendly greeting was a blank look, droopy-eyed and fatuous. Murasakibara slowly studied the updated Kiyoshi Teppei, a substantial portion of whose leg was now bandaged and hauled up by a winch rather than merely resting on a pillow. It looked permanent. Murasakibara rummaged around in the bag on his arm and took out a package of strawberry-flavored Socky, which he opened and began to work his way through methodically.

"Ahh," He said, his stare sliding over to the side-table. "Still have the cookie."

He managed to make the word last an additional syllable and sound extra childish. _Co-oo-kie_.

"Yeah. I kept it for luck." Kiyoshi smiled.

Ignoring this, Murasakibara continued. "Did it hurt?"

"I haven't tried it yet!"

Murasakibara frowned, persisting. "How _much_ did it hurt?"

"I heard you won your game the other night."

"Eh? Oh, that. It was boring."

"How did Kamata score three times against you?"

The frown became mutinous and Murasakibara turned away from the bed. Kiyoshi thought (privately, with a sense of triumph) that he'd made short work of him, but Murasakibara merely clamped a paw around the chair in the corner of the room and dragged it over to sit in. He slouched, and his lavender-colored hair dangled in his sleepy eyes.

"Long shots."

"There was one from inside, too."

"Got distracted."

"So you're not good with long shots."

Murasakibara chewed thoughtfully and stared out the window over Kiyoshi's hauled-up leg. "We won anyway." Then he looked back at the prone, comfortable guy who filled the hospital bed. He wasn't as big as Murasakibara himself but he wasn't too small. He looked relaxed and stupid with his leg up. He looked calm. It occurred to him that this conversation hadn't pissed off Kiyoshi at all, while he was vaguely irritated, like he had an itch on his foot.

"Isn't it a four hour trip from Akita, Murasakibara?"

"Coachy found us a trainer," He smiled suddenly like this was the biggest joke in the world. "Staying in Tokyo for the next two weeks to do drills. She wants to win this year."

"Do you think you're gonna?" Kiyoshi said, with a serious and amused smile in response.

Murasakibara let his eyes travel openly along the body of the injured center and iron heart of Seirin. "We're going to do better than you are."

"You're going to have to train every day if you want to beat Seirin."

Murasakibara snorted and began to stand up.

"I mean it. Work hard every day. Then you'll win."

"Giving advice to your opponents?"

"Just remember it when you lose again."

"We're not going to lose again, Kii-chin.... haha, Kiichin." 

But he did not sound so sure.

When he left Kiyoshi turned the television on and flipped to a sports channel. Women's golf. He thought about how Murasakibara would be the only reason that Murasakibara wouldn't go pro. He was a natural, like Aomine. Guys like that were born to play. It seemed like a waste somehow that he didn't take himself seriously. Then he sent Riko a text message to tell her about the visit and the trainer and that she should think about getting some things ready.


	3. Recovery, Day 12

The next time Murasakibara came, it was late; Kiyoshi had watched the sun set already, and the clear sky revealed a handful of stars. The TV was on, but muted. He was attempting to do homework.

 _Attempting_ in that he was propped up in bed on several stiff white hospital pillows with a pre-calculus book open on the bed next to him and several handouts balanced precariously on his lifted leg and a notebook upon his undamaged thigh, a mechanical pencil in his hand, a concerned frown on his face, and a lot of meaningful-looking scratches on a page, but he had something south of no clue at all about what he was doing, and Hyuuga wasn't here to at least console him that he wasn't getting it any more wrong than anyone else. He was committed to getting it "done" if he couldn't get it right, and the fuzzy-brained and heavy grind that followed made him want to reach for the night nurse bell and complain that his pain medication was too strong.

The nasal whine that announced Murasakibara's arrival was a relief, even if he did come in saying, "Kii-chin the honor roll student..."

He wore a white tee with a logo on it and loose, long shorts, a kerchief tied around one wrist, the habitual bag of snacks hanging from his forearm, and slung over his shoulder was a duffel bag. Easily he slouched up to the bedside, ignoring Kiyoshi's greeting and dangling his eyes at the work in progress.

" _Hoh..._ "

"Eh? _Hoh_ what?"

"Made a mistake." His substantial forefinger stabbed at the page where Kiyoshi had expanded ( _attempted to expand_ ) the term (x+9)(y+17)².

"What's a mistake about that?" Despite a little defensive bristling, he hadn't said it with any real heat. He was inclined to gentle annoyance. Besides nothing about Murasakibara rewarded a sharp attitude in the first place.

"Ehhh, you don't know?" Murasakibara wore an expression like a sunburst through a storm as he picked up the page and held it in both hands, high out of reach, and read it. Smugly he rumbled, "Kii-chin made a lot of mistakes..." 

"Hey, give that back."

"Gonna fall off the honor roll."

"That's why I said you should give it back. So I can fix it."

Murasakibara glared down at him. Triumph had rearranged his lazy eyes and mumbling lips into something sharp and strange, as if someone had wiped away a thick layer of dust from him. Abruptly he released the page, which fluttered down to Kiyoshi's lap. Then he slung his snack bag onto the bed next to Kiyoshi's good leg, dropped his duffel on the floor, and went off to get the chair he'd pulled up last time. "I have to do some homework too."

"You don't have a desk at your hotel room? C'mon," He complained, rearranging his papers and rubbing his temple. "I have to get this done tonight."

From the chair, Murasakibara rifled through his bags and pulled out a couple of books: _Calculus I Of Real Variables_ and _Kinematics: With Industrial Applications_. Kiyoshi's eyes widened.

"It's boring." He said, with an air of finality. Probably, if he had gone back to the hotel after practice, he wouldn't have bothered with doing it. But in Kiyoshi's hospital room it's not like there was anything else to do.

He was surprisingly diligent while working at Kiyoshi's bedside. His handwriting was childish and he had, and used without any apparent shame, a variety of super sentai-themed pencils, but he proceeded level and even through his calculus. Kiyoshi had given up trying to protest pretty quickly; then, after watching the incongruous sight of Murasakibara Atsushi wrapping his mitt around a Gecko Super Power Man pencil, he turned his attention back to his own work, and continued to hack away at his algebra. There was something calming about the presence of his huge guest. It wasn't a friendly feeling or companionable; more like the feeling of watching the water of a lake. That same sense of some gigantic natural order at work, unaffected by anything else. Whatever it was, he felt like he might finally be making some progress.

It must have been a half hour later when he finally beetled his brows and scratched behind his ear with the tip of his pencil, more to get Murasakibara's attention than to relieve an itch. But Murasakibara was apparently focused.

"Hey."

"Yeaaahhhhhhhh?" Came the drawled reply. He did not look up from his page.

"Maybe you could check my work."

"I thought you wanted me to go awaaaayyyyy." He had a spiteful toad-like grin on as he said it. 

Kiyoshi did find him bizarrely repellent and funny at that moment. It was exactly because he was on the verge of shouting at Murasakibara to actually go away that he slipped free of his growing irritation and instead answered, "No way. You're always welcome here. You bring snacks."

He snatched Murasakibara's open bag of shrimp chips and helped himself to a handful.

"Oi..." Breathed Murasakibara incredulously, the toad-like grin vanishing. "Hey hey... Those are my..." He was having trouble with the words, as it had literally never before in his life happened that someone took something from _him._

Kiyoshi ate another one. "These are good. Thank you, Murasakibara."

"You can't take my chips!"

"Hey, here's my homework. Just tell me what's wrong, ok?" With his unchipped hand he pushed the papers forward.

On any other day Murasakibara would have just wrestled the bag of chips back but Kiyoshi was injured, and despite how mean he was and how little he usually cared, Murasakibara had the same sort of pious awareness of the wounded that certain animals have, and it was impossible for him to imagine mauling Kiyoshi properly at that moment. Instead he bitched, "Kiiiiiii-chiiiiiiinnnnn... you stole my chips..." as he picked up the homework.

"I'll get you another bag," Kiyoshi beamed, his good humor completely restored. "...I'll give you money and you can get your own bag."

* * *

He had to curl up in the hotel bed so his ankles didn't dangle off the bottom. Tucked in and cozy, hovering near sleep, he thought about the events of the day: tutoring, practice, Kiyoshi and homework. He'd beat Kiyoshi at homework today. He'd beat him at something else soon, he thought. He'd beat Kiyoshi over and over again until he won everything. Sort of frustrating that they couldn't play basketball for a long time. The crisp laundered smell of the hotel sheets got to him and he grew darker and darker until he passed out of consciousness. His last thought was of Kiyoshi Teppei eating his shrimp chips.


	4. Recovery, Days 14-23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some dicks getting touched 
> 
> oopsies

He didn't come every day, but he was regular in his patterns and habits, and Kiyoshi thought he was beginning to understand them: Murasakibara would arrive late, in clean casual clothes, with snacks and homework, and stay for two or three hours. He was making the trip for this purpose and only this purpose; it wasn't en route to something else. If other Seirin players happened to come by at the same time, or be there when he arrived, he would snort at them in contemptuous greeting and otherwise ignore them.

Twice he brought (of all things) a 13x13 travel board for Go. But he barely knew how to play, and it appeared that his strategy was to rely on Kiyoshi knowing even less about how to play. Their games could not be said to have a victor and their adherence to rule was questionable. The best part was Murasakibara trying to hold the pieces in a professional way, pinned between index and middle fingertips, but as it was a travel board, the pieces were magnetic, and small, and they jumped out of his grip and stuck at random. Kiyoshi laughed himself silly the second time it happened, when Murasakibara argued that it was somehow completely intentional. Aside from Go, he stuck to homework only. Kiyoshi helped himself to the snacks and gave Murasakibara pocket change in return. They didn't talk much.

One night Kiyoshi turned his friendly smile up to Murasakibara and said, "I'm glad you came by."

Murasakibara didn't answer. He just stared at Kiyoshi for a long time, expressionlessly, and then left. He didn't come the next night, nor the night after. Kiyoshi counted the days in his mind and thought it would be a few more until Murasakibara left Tokyo; he wasn't worried, but around 8 or 9 o'clock on the night of the third day, he did start to feel restless, and it was difficult to concentrate on his English textbook. But he was getting unbandaged soon and could go back home and start on physical therapy. He watched the stars and more of the interminable golf and baseball on the TV and bounced a racquetball off the window a few times - Riko had brought it for him, and she said it was so he could work on his grip, but it was a little too small to be a good trainer, so he mostly just played solo bed-bound handball with it. An unsatisfying and hazardous game. He fell asleep early.

The next morning he was awakened by the soft click of the door opening and closing. As he took a deep breath and began to arrange himself in bed for the visit of, he supposed, some nurse, he heard a familiar nasally whine.

"Hoh, Kii-chin still asleep."

"I'm up," He mumbled, dragging the sleep crust out of the corners of his eyes and arranging himself on the pillow. "Murasakibara?"

"Heyyyyy."

Something warm dropped onto Kiyoshi's chest. When he managed to get his brain around it, he found that it was a McDoodles bag, grease-spotted and smelling of breakfast sandwiches. Looming high above, with a weird grin: Murasakibara. He didn't have his duffel today, apparently, and he was dressed for practice. He poked a hand into the bag and rummaged freely to obtain a paper-wrapped egg sandwich for himself.

"It's too early." Kiyoshi groaned, and flopped dramatically back on the pillow and threw an arm over his face, and tried to climb back into the cozy mental haze of being not awake. Murasakibara munched, unperturbed, and surveyed Kiyoshi's prone body. Leg still up. Head still on pillow. The blankets were pushed low on his waist, nearly past his hips. Kiyoshi was wearing a white tee and green running shorts. Perceptible within the sheen of the shorts was a sluggish semi. He made a funny sound, laughing and/or snorting around a mouthful of breakfast.

"What." 

A strange sensation, prickling and opportunistic, curled slowly around Murasakibara's thoughts. He felt like being mean without malice, or malicious without cruelty. He just wanted to mess with Kiyoshi a little. It was more an act of instinct than planning when he reached down and gently prodded Kiyoshi's dick with one finger. "You've got one of those," he said.

Kiyoshi went very still, his arm still over his eyes. He spoke in a careful, controlled tone of voice that Murasakibara had never heard from him before. "...Get your finger off my junk, Atsushi."

A rising malevolence, a fascination, moved Murasakibara's hand for him. Not off, but on, completely covering. He curled his whole palm over Kiyoshi's dick over his shorts. He could feel its weird tender semi-softness and the heat of Kiyoshi's body. He did not know why he was doing this. Kiyoshi had called him by his first name. "That's better?"

A deep red flush travelled up Kiyoshi's neck and he trembled. Inexplicably he burst into laughter. "I'm..." He tried to talk through his own giggling. "I'm going to give you.... ten minutes... to get your hand off my dick.... _or else!_ "

But he'd wound up his good leg to kick Murasakibara's hand away, and he dragged the blankets up in a spasm of activity and threw the McDoodles sack off the bed and put a pillow over his hips. The joke had taken him helplessly and out of panic he couldn't stop it.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" He finally exploded, kicking at Murasakibara as well as he possibly could. The winch groaned and jangled. His smile was not friendly now. "Go away!"

Murasakibara had watched all of this with a dull, lifeless eye and slack mouth, accepting Kiyoshi's blows without attempting to guard himself. He felt like someone else was piloting his body from far away. Kiyoshi looked flushed and humiliated, livid, but the feeling Murasakibara had about this was warm, like the moment of accidentally pissing your pants: pleasurable heat before disgust and shame set in. He was the one who was humiliated, not Kiyoshi. He didn't even know why. It wasn't his semi. Like a dull, plodding beast he stumbled away from the bed and picked up the McDoodles bag.

"So-rries." He said in a sing-song voice over his shoulder as he left. 

He never came back to the hospital.


	5. Rehabilitation: August, Kiyoshi

Spring eased into summer and buried the incident in an abundance of leaves and popsicles and sunsets and physical therapy, and Kiyoshi, now a senior, was on hand to play assistant and manager to the Seirin High basketball team. 

By the time midsummer rolled around he was off crutches, though still walking with a cane. Riko badgered him incessantly about resting, but he couldn't stand to sit, and he was neither too proud nor too wounded to bring towels or hold her clipboard while she shouted or discuss strategy and training plans with her. She was surprised at what a quick study he was; he was surprised at how much she knew. He had this peculiar approach which reminded her of her father at times and at others of Suzuki, the perpetually relaxed PE teacher and sponsor of the kendo club. 

For example, during beachside training in July, Kagami and Hyuuga were starting to get pretty arrogant about running on sand. Kiyoshi got up at who knows what early hour one day and went down to the beach with a bucket and soaked an entire quarter-kilometer of sand. Riko wanted to scream at him when she saw it, but he'd also put two chairs and an umbrella in the center of it, and he filled a tall glass with lemonade from a pitcher as the team came tumbling down to the sea.

"Well, I thought it would be fun if you did some more running today," He said, filling up a second glass. "Run around a little bit, see what you think."

The wet footprints struck deep and stuck, leaving an uneven surface for the next guy. There was no tide to wash them away. It was a cool morning and a long time before the sand would dry. The result was a brutal workout for the ankles. Taiga's shins were aching within fifteen minutes.

"You call this fun!" He shouted, wobbling dangerously as he came to a panting halt in front of the coach and her diligent assistant.

"I'm having fun." Kiyoshi smiled, refilling his lemonade. Riko had her shorts hiked up and her long legs slathered in tanning lotion, and nothing much to say except orders for another lap.

That was Kiyoshi's way, indirectly direct and skillful. She quickly came to rely on his intuition without asking for explanations, just as he supported her and learned from her without hesitation.

The season began with a pair of easy victories for Seirin that left a bittersweet taste in Kiyoshi's mouth. Only Riko and Kuroko saw it on him, though; for the rest of the team, who had not spent as much time with him lately, he was the same pleasant, happy guy on the bench as he had been off it. It couldn't be helped.

She grabbed him one day in late August as he left class.

"Kiyoshi! Shuutoku is playing tonight, and you're coming with me to watch."

"Wha--?" He allowed her to seize his wrist and drag him. To be honest, he had a weakness for being bullied by her. Her tender care was so...

"They're undefeated so far." She interrupted his thoughts.

"So are we. So?..."

"They're playing Yousen, that's why I'm saying you need to come with me to watch."

He came to a dead stop in the hall and leaned heavily on his cane. A feeling of slithering uncertainty.

Riko turned, querelous. "What's wrong?"

"Why would I care who they're playing?"

She frowned mightily and marched behind him to shove at his back. "Don't you want to see how Midorima will pierce the Shield of Aegis?? What's wrong with you!"

"Ah-ah Riko, don't shove me like that! I'm wounded! Wounded!" She didn't notice how he seemed to relax instantly as soon as she spoke, how her words had restored to him the use of his limbs. 

Would Murasakibara be there: probably. It didn't mean anything. a process of calming rationalization followed: that was months ago, and he was no longer lying in a hospital bed, anyway. If his heart was still uneasy, well, it was still worth checking out the competition. It had just been some weird one-off thing. Hard to feel anything about it but a little awkwardness. It would do him good to watch Midorima's graceful long shots sail over the heads of Yousen's defense. 

They took the train to Shuutoku with Hyuuga in tow.


	6. Rehabilitation: August, Murasakibara

Yousen took control of the ball immediately and decisively and Himuro sprinted easily down the court like he was alone to drop a two point shot. He grinned, turned, and loped back as Shuutoku took the ball and tried to get up. Midorima was still on the bench and, though the Seirin contingent was behind him, it seemed pretty clear that he and his coach were drawing a bead on what Yousen's game plan was. Riko thought, _that's smart, watching. Yousen's good at defense but they can get lazy._

Murasakibara was there. He loomed beneath the basket with his head dropped and his big shoulders relaxed. Kiyoshi found to his relief that there was nothing weird about seeing him. In fact, seeing him like this, on the court, in his usual way, it was easier to remember him as the generally benevolent snack vendor.

He shambled to the point of Shuutoku's approach and slapped the ball out of the hands of Takao the way a kid slaps a toy out of another kid's hands. Shuutoku recovered, and the attempted shot that followed got blocked easily by Liu. 

That was how it would go for the entire first quarter. Shuutoku never scored. It was 0-15 Yousen when Midorima came in the game. Riko and Hyuuga both sat forward: _now it's going to get interesting._ Kiyoshi answered Hyuuga's excited grin with a grin of his own, but his thoughts were on Himuro. Himuro and Midorima were really similar, he realized. Similar technique, similar approach to the game. Similar willingness to work til they dropped. Midorima was touched with genius but he was also a pretty eccentric guy. Himuro wasn't the greatest player but he had a way of making his will felt. _If I put one of them on a team, it would be..._

From halfway across the court Midorima set up, his back coiled like a spring, and made a shot that Yousen had no chance of blocking.

_Midorima._

Murasakibara might as well have sat down and picked his nose for the next five minutes. Yousen's offense scrambled to become the anti-Midorima strike unit but he rode them with his long, tireless stride. Every time the ball was in his hands he threw in another effortless basket. Himuro darted around him like a hummingbird, fighting for an opening, fighting to make one, just as indefatiguable, shining with sweat. 

Murasakibara trotted lazily back and forth under the basket, where there was no threat at all, and threw the ball to Himuro a lot. At the end of the second quarter the score was 15-19. 

"I'll go get some drinks, Riko." 

"Sit," She said decisively. "Hyuuga will go. Right?"

"...Right.. Uhh, what do you want, Kiyoshi?"

"Oolong tea!"

Hyuuga scrunched and wiggled out of the full-up row of seats, apologizing freely to all the knees he assaulted on his way out. Even as long-legged and athletic as he was, there was no helping the crush. Like most high school basketball games in the Kantou region this one sported a capacity crowd. Even in the secord tier of the bleachers, Riko, Kiyoshi, and Hyuuga were surrounded by cheering fans.

"Hey, Kiyoshi, what do you think?"

"Himuro's working hard."

"Himuro? I guess he is. Liu's gotten a lot better at passing."

"...I guess he has, huh! Look at Himuro and Midorima though."

"Eh?"

He told her about his thoughts. Down on the court, the teams were filing off to their locker rooms, and the glare of lights and the heat of many bodies gave off a sense of lifting excitement like a hot wind. As Hyuuga came bumping back up through the row with drinks, Kiyoshi watched Himuro trot up to Murasakibara's side.

He grabbed the center's arm and flung a hand up towards the stands. Murasakibara turned. Himuro pointed up into the second tier of bleachers, to an area high up behind Shuutoku's bench, while talking. Kiyoshi felt his neck stiffen involuntarily. 

Murasakibara looked up and searched the stands. He said something to Himuro, who said something back. Then they walked away together towards the exit to the locker room. As he left Murasakibara held up one hand just for a moment.

"Hey, Kiyoshi!" Hyuuga complained, thrusting a bottle of cold oolong tea in his face. "Pay attention!"

"What? Oh. Thanks, Hyuuga!" He took it and pressed it to the side of his neck, then the other side. Hyuuga folded himself back into his seat, grumbling, while opening Riko's lemon soda for her before handing it to her.

The second half of the game began with a noticeable change in position. Murasakibara came forward for the tip off. There was some subtle change in him. Though his head was still bowed as he plodded up to the center, there was a different feeling in his movements, a tension in place of his usual pulled-taffy dumbness.

When the ref came up with the ball his head lifted immediately. He had a sharp look, Kiyoshi could see it even from the stands: the same one as he'd seen in the hospital room, the first night they'd done homework together. He was facing off against Takao and Takao was still a meter away when Murasakibara slammed the ball towards Himuro. What followed was a kind of play that nobody had ever seen before.

Murasakibara was on the offense, but he walked, or took maybe one or two quick steps, and never ran. He didn't hustle or bend, he never threw his arms up to block. Nevertheless he would appear wherever the ball was, like he'd just ambled up to it on a clear sunny day, and he'd stretch out his hand and grab it and course up-court with it to dunk. He showed up in front of Takao as if it was an accident and just stole the ball. When he jumped, he hung in the air, like he wasn't even in a hurry to fall. It looked slow and casual but there was something brutal about it, something totally devoid of "play." It had the heaviness and inevitability of fate. Before anyone realized what was happening he'd scored 8 points in 4 minutes.

Midorima was still a problem. Giving Murasakibara a wide berth, focus in his eyes, he and Takao would wrestle away the ball when they could, and he was still throwing those cruel, impossible long shots. He was shaken, though, and began to miss more frequently. Shuutoku was suddenly fighting for its life.

Murasakibara's most-hated thing: weak things who don't know when they're beaten. The fluttering and struggling animal passion, the pretense.... he hated it. But his hatred had a name.

By Midorima's fifth or sixth shot Murasakibara got pissed and began to track him, ignoring any orders from Araki at the sidelines, ignoring even his own teammates. He faced off against the annoyance, his hands spread at his sides and a darkness hanging in his eyes. Midorima's cool irritation shone through, and you could see him sizing up a shot right where he stood, three-quarters of the court away from his basket.

 _He's going to pass...!_ Riko thought, clutching Hyuuga's arm.

Midorima faked the shot and flowed easily into the pass, which was aimed at new second-year with bristly black hair. Murasakibara must have bought the fake: he launched himself upward powerfully, and then, as the ball shot to the side, he dangled one hand down the way he might dangle a hand in a stream. He caught the ball, set up, and shot it all in one terrible midair movement.

It dropped through the hoop and the crowd got to its feet. Midorima paled and stumbled back. Murasakibara approached him with his usual stupid-face smile and said something that made Midorima turn and walk away without a word.

The rest of the game was a formality. The final score was Shuutoku 24, Yousen 87.

Hyuuga and Riko and Kiyoshi got up and left as soon as the game was over, but the well-dressed white man two rows behind them and a little to Kiyoshi's left stayed for a little while after. He was sending text message after text message on his phone.


	7. Tidal pool, palm tree, a distant future day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just cuz im putting in these here yaois doesn't mean you get to stop reading the rest of the story, ok?? 
> 
> (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ
> 
> plus you have to find out what happened just before this which i am not going to tell you yet.

He awoke to find Murasakibara dangling above him, staring at him, expressionless and warm. Kiyoshi didn't know what to do about it yet, not while his body was still emerging from sleep, so he stared back. Though he must have registered some confusion because Murasakibara mumbled, "'Zt a problem?"

Kiyoshi shook his head. "Just something I have to get used to." Like palm trees, he thought. This was what everyday life was going to be like now.

Murasakibara's mouth turned down at the corners and he began to shift away. Kiyoshi had to grab his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, I said it was ok."

He felt the thick muscle bunch under his hand, and Murasakibara's long arms coiled around him, around his waist and under his shoulders, digging between him and the sheets. He was dragged into a heavy embrace. Murasakibara's chin came to rest on his shoulder. Light, soap-smelling tendrils of lavender hair had ticklishly scattered over Kiyoshi's face, and he brushed them back into place before heaving a sigh and folding an arm over Murasakibara's back.

"I like you, Atsushi." He said.

At this Murasakibara's arms tightened, and he crammed his face against Kiyoshi's neck. "Teppei... Teppei..." His hot breath, mingled with his strangely hushed and intimate crooning, stroked against Kiyoshi's skin and curled up in his ear. Murasakibara kissed him with bird-like delicacy, out of embarrassment, though when Kiyoshi slid a hand into his hair and petted him, he swallowed up Kiyoshi's throat in his hot mouth and sucked at him and Kiyoshi groaned at the gravity of pleasure and if he didn't do something there was no limit to how long it might go on. He imagined himself with a hickey the size of a fist and grinned as he shoved Murasakibara back.

"If you're going to be like that, do something about this." He grabbed Murasakibara's hand and pushed it down to his hips.

Compliant, thick fingers fumbled around with the cotton of his boxers and Murasakibara slid a hand into the slit. He found Kiyoshi's hard-on and tucked his hand under it to curl around, and held him. A complaint sounded, "Greedy..." Kiyoshi shivered as smooth lips brushed his ear. "Kii-chin is greedy."

Entertained, indulged, Kiyoshi tried to buck against the warm grip which abundantly enclosed him. But he felt the lips at his ear curl, and Murasakibara's hand rode Kiyoshi's hips and left him without friction. 

"Atsushi..." He warned, or asked.

"Do what you like," Murasakibara replied. "It won't make a difference."

Kiyoshi threw himself back against the pillow with a sigh of patient frustration. He could wait, if that's how this was going to be. And as soon as he looked to be fortifying his position, Murasakibara tucked an elbow under himself and rose up so he could watch as he began to stroke Kiyoshi off.

As his whole hand, palm and fingers and curled joints and all, softly searched the length of Kiyoshi's dick, Kiyoshi admitted silently that he'd gotten better. His attempts had a negative heft: rather than figure out what Kiyoshi liked, he seemed to work of off previous error, to avoid what caused pain or irritation or disinterest. It was different than when he touched himself, racing happily to the places and paces that got him off the quickest; Murasakibara crept along his flesh gracelessly but deeply attentive and patient to the point of perversity. Even the caution of this approach, so close to diffidence, aroused him now. He relaxed and held lightly to Murasakibara's bulk and his handsome, regular features were arranged in an expression of simmering enjoyment.

Murasakibara grinned helplessly. In his hand he had the most sensitive part of Kiyoshi, the part where outside and inside were the most thinly separated, the hard and silky part, the humid part that made Kiyoshi's cheeks flush and his friendly eyes warm into liquid color like honey. Kiyoshi responded to him like this, so easily, as long as he was careful not to fuck it up. He felt un-hungry with Kiyoshi's hands at his shoulders and Kiyoshi's quiet strength organized in his direction. He stroked without force or rushing, letting Kiyoshi sift between his fingers, feeling the subtle movement in his belly or the brush of curly hair at the side of his hand. This wasn't fast enough, he knew.

"Hey, Kii-chin..." he muttered, flopping his free hand up so he could lay the back of it against Kiyoshi's cheek. "I want to make it more slippery, is that alright?"

 "Uh-- yeah. Wait, let me take these off..."

Murasakibara kissed him, his hand suddenly curled snugly around Kiyoshi's cock like a hug. He ran his tongue along Kiyoshi's lips but then, without waiting for a response, he detached and picked himself up and bounded off the bed towards the bathroom area. Kiyoshi watched him go - Murasakibara was still in his pajama pants, and the broad taper of his back ending in the low waistband of pink flannel pants with a yellow rubber ducky print had not stopped entertaining him yet - before struggling out of his boxers and, as well, sitting up to strip off his white t-shirt. He spread out comfortably on the bed; Murasakibara returned with the little bottle of hotel hand and face lotion. 

Kiyoshi's long, elegant, bare body -- Murasakibara was not a man with an aesthetic bent, nor a connoisseur of sexual attractiveness. The splendid sight of Kiyoshi Teppei naked was wasted on him, as his opinion of Kiyoshi would not change very much if he were not so beautiful, and yet he recognized, distantly, that he liked looking at Kiyoshi, and the more he looked, the more he wanted to look and touch. Kiyoshi would let him. 

He had a raging boner but it concerned him not at all as he climbed onto the bed at Kiyoshi's feet and picked them up, one after the other, by the ankles, to lick and kiss his heels, his shins, his knees, the insides and outsides of his thighs. He dragged his tongue up Kiyoshi's erection and sucked at his flexing belly and his nipples and then, in the midst of Kiyoshi's happy groaning, he collapsed on top of him and sucked his mouth open and demanded his tongue.

"Teppei..." The soft chant started up again. "Teppei, Teppei, Teppei, Teppei, Tep-pei..."

Kiyoshi tangled his legs with Murasakibara's and slid his hands up Murasakibara's back. He could feel Murasakibara's unnaturally big dick against his stomach, hot and urgent. That was when Murasakibara tipped his heavy body off to the side and started dumping lotion into his hand. He would still duck down from time to time, still chanting, interrupted only by his kisses eating up Kiyoshi's ears and chin and mouth and neck, even the pulse of his throat. Within moments his slick fingers closed around Kiyoshi's cock again and Kiyoshi arched up and clawed at him, gasping. His face was tight with want.

The firm rhythm Murasakibara set was adequate, barely. "Faster," He asked through his teeth, but nothing changed much. Murasakibara's hand slipped over his dick in a cloud of artificial vanilla scent, fast enough and hard enough to push him closer and closer to orgasm, but just short of satisfying. Even with his eyes squeezed shut he could feel the weight of Murasakibara's dark violet gaze on his skin. But it no longer embarrassed him the way it used to.

" _Atsushi_...!" He hissed, bucking, almost there, painfully close...

At that moment Murasakibara's touch lifted completely, leaving Kiyoshi's naked, rose-red dick shining with lotion and completely unbothered.

Kiyoshi opened his eyes. He couldn't help but laugh at the serious focus on his partner's face. Incredulously he asked, "What are you  _doing?_ " 

In reply Murasakibara closed his hand around him again, and he touched lightly now, slower than he had before. One corner of his mouth lifted. The hang of his hair threw shadow over his eyes against the morning sun.

"Jerk..." Kiyoshi muttered, closing his eyes again, focusing on the sweet lick of being touched. This time as he neared orgasm he kept it quiet, and the tight, compact grind of his ass against the sheets revealed how caught he was. Close....  _closer...._

Again Murasakibara pulled his hand away.

He could ignore his own hard-on because he was taken with the sight of Kiyoshi in need: flushed, openly expressive, shaking and crying out, vulnerable and struggling. Something about it touched him in a nameless place, like the stroke of a feather against some sensitive internal membrane, and he thought with genial sadism that he would look at it until he was tired of looking at it or until Kiyoshi stopped looking like that. He figured he had some time.

Kiyoshi, on the other hand, got pissed. Anger darkened his clear gaze and he started to coil up with tension beneath Murasakibara. "Stop it. Come on, if you..."

The huge fist clutched him again and he sucked in a hard breath and reached up to grip the pillow beneath his head. With his other hand he reached down to hold Murasakibara's hand there, where it felt so pleasurable, where it urged him up to the peak once more...

Murasakibara flipped his grip, grabbed Kiyoshi's wrist in his slippery hand, and dragged it up and over his head. 

"Don't fight." Like a warning to a squabbling child, like an urgent and dark plea to a lover. He went back to work, his long fingers dipping down to snuggle Kiyoshi's balls and tug gently at them at the bottom of each stroke. Kiyoshi gave up and started to thrust openly against the pressure. His face was red. His soft, messy brown hair was touched with dampness at the temples and he arched and strained beneath Murasakibara. When long moments passed at the edge of unfulfilled need, Kiyoshi felt a cord of despair tighten around his throat. His helpless thinking communicated itself to the lost expression that bunched his brows and loosened his tight jaw.

What Murasakibara thought of this, Kiyoshi would not know, because his eyes were so tightly closed. But the warm pulse of breath over his face and the warm mouth that encompassed his own told it, the sudden swiftness of Murasakibara's hand admitted it. He brought Kiyoshi to the edge once more and --

Again the dropped hand, and Kiyoshi felt like crying as Murasakibara's weight moved away. He tried to sit up in anger but a strong hand pushed him back down, and Murasakibara rose over him, and settled his big shoulders between Kiyoshi's thighs. Without warning he gathered up Kiyoshi's dick and closed his mouth over it.

Teased past control, Kiyoshi could only submit. He threw a leg over Murasakibara's shoulder and thrust up into his warm mouth, and Murasakibara grasped his powerful hips and steadied him as he let Kiyoshi fuck his mouth. Within seconds Kiyoshi arched, threw his head against the pillow, and flung an arm up to his face so he could bite his forearm to muffle the gross noises he would otherwise make. The relief of it was so intense he felt tears spring to his eyes. Murasakibara nursed him through his orgasm and then hung out too long, sucking at his oversensitive dick, until Kiyoshi grabbed at his hair and pulled it with a shaking hand.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and came up to collect Kiyoshi in his arms.

Kiyoshi punched him in the shoulder, and again in the back with a pounding fist. Not as hard as he could have. "Asshole..." 

"Ow." Murasakibara hugged him more closely and hid his smiling against the side of Kiyoshi's head.

"Atsushi..." He muttered, ticked and pleasurably exhausted, still breathing hard. His hands crept up almost involuntarily to hold Murasakibara. 

"Kii-chin," came the answering rumble. Murasakibara nuzzled him. "I'm huuuuungry."

Kiyoshi was silent for a while. Still recuperating. Annoyed and affectionate in equal measure, eventually he said, "Give me five minutes to figure out how to walk again. We'll go get breakfast." Then he added, before Murasakibara could feel too victorious, "After a run."


	8. Rehabilitation: October, Kiyoshi

The first time the nickname ever appeared in print was about a month after the Shuutoku game, in an Akita paper, where the reporter claimed it was already being chanted by the home crowd. Within a few weeks it got into general use whenever Yousen played and sometimes even when they didn't. One day Riko and Kiyoshi opened the local paper to the sports sections, meaning to flip to the column covering high school games, only to find a giant picture of Kagami in flight right on the front. They were huddled up on a bench outside, next to the tennis courts, to enjoy a little autumn sunshine and the crisp changing leaves on a cold morning. So when Riko shouted in recognition, the students passing by turned to glare at them.

The article that went with the picture opened with the sentence, "Seirin High School power forward Kagami Taiga is one of an elite new basketball aristocracy."

"Really?!" Riko spouted. She nearly dropped her cup of tea and scrambled to get her hands back around it. 

It went on to describe "just some" of the young players who were "opening the eye of the world to the potential of Japanese basketball." Aomine was there, and Midorima, and as it was a local paper there was a full paragraph on Taiga (which Kiyoshi thought was pretty well-deserved) and another one about Seirin as a team. Riko was mentioned as the manager and Kiyoshi was named coach, which made him wince, and he only managed to cool Riko down by sending a correction right away by email to the author.

Murasakibara was also listed. "One player on everyone's mind this year is Yousen's center, Murasakibara Atsushi. A towering 211 centimeters, he's the all-around ace with major defensive and offensive power who has led Yousen to an unbroken string of victories. Yousen fans call him _Ukiyama_ for his midair stunts."

Riko looked surprised. "'The floating mountain'... That's quite a nickname." 

"Can't say it doesn't suit him," Kiyoshi replied.

It couldn't be disputed, not after what they had seen at Shuutoku. Riko still had nightmares about that unreal block and shot. How do you stop a player like that? So far all she'd come up with is _make sure he never gets the ball._ Speed, unpredictability, tight passing: she was taking care to emphasize these in her training plan at every opportunity.

The article ended without mentioning Kuroko - unsurprisingly. But it also didn't mention Akashi or Kise. The term "Generation Of Miracles" never came up at all. Maybe it was because Kagami wasn't a part of that, but maybe it was because some of these players were becoming bigger than what they did in junior high. The thought gave Kiyoshi pause.

He began to think for the first time maybe in his life that some of the people he had played with were going on to bigger things in the world of basketball. They'd trained hard, played hard, proved their talent... would they go on to play college ball? For a guy like Kagami, that was a no-brainer. And past that? Aomine was definitely capable of going pro. He'd be playing in the NBL* for sure, maybe even before he finished college. Midorima had a gift, and he could probably do a lot with it if he nurtured it. With a twinge of vertiginous unease he realized that he personally wouldn't be going anywhere. Not pro, not college, not even the floor of his last Winter Cup.

He thought, too, that he'd dedicated so much of his heart and head to the game of basketball that he'd lost sight of the _sport_ of basketball. He knew how to play and how to make his team better, but he didn't know anything about what it meant to be a pro. No matter how many NBL or NBA games he watched, he didn't know anything about what seemed like a mountain of money, movement, planning, dealmaking.

"Riko?"

"Mm?"

"What were you going to do in college? I just realized I never asked you."

"Ehh? Of course, I'm going to coach basketball." She said it with determination and certainty as she set aside her phone (text message to Kagami about his newfound fame and how he should not let it go to his head.) (But also congratulations.)

He laughed, fixing her with his sincere brown eyes. "Come on, Riko, you can't study 'coach basketball' in college."

But there was no answering laughter nor any hint of doubt. She had a plan; she'd worked it all out a while ago. There was no question in her mind about it. "I'll study sports physiology. And coach basketball. What about you, Kiyoshi?"

"...I don't know," he said slowly, feeling out the truth of it. He'd always agreed he'd study whatever his grandparents wanted him to study, which was currently medicine (grandma) or civil engineering (grandpa.) In reality his focus had been completely consumed by getting the Seirin basketball team on its feet and pushing them to be number one in Japan. That had been what mattered. That's why he did his homework. That's why he'd gotten out of bed in the morning. Building the team, being with the team.

Riko shot him an appalled glare. "What about entrance exams! What about planning for your future!"

"I'm applying to Tokodai and stuff like that."

"Kiyoshi! You sound like you're not taking this very seriously at all!"

"Well," He managed to grin. "I'll have to start."

But no matter how he flattered or teased her in the midst of her shouting after that, he couldn't shut out the quiet emptiness in his own mind. He had no idea what he wanted to do if it wasn't basketball.

* * *

Two days later, Seirin racked up its fifth consecutive victory in a fast-paced, high-spirited game that culminated in a stunning pair of back to back baskets from Kuroko, of all people. The article had been good for morale, and Kagami, true to form, had _not_ let it go to his head. Not that he ever had a chance, as Riko rained demands down upon her "superstar" (he quickly understood the term to mean "target.") 

As for the competition, Yousen was top: ten games, ten wins. Rakuzan had lost Akashi for a two weeks to a tour of European colleges, and was down three games because of it. That was the size of things heading into the Interhigh preliminaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * the National Basketball League (NBL) is the recently-created major Japanese pro basketball league, roughly equivalent to the American NBA. There's an additional Japanese pro league called bj league which I could not possibly include with a straight face.


	9. Rehabilitation: November, Murasakibara

Akita Interhigh Preliminaries

**Game 1:** Yousen vs. Akita Technical High School

Score: 101 - 0

Murasakibara "Ukiyama" Atsushi dominates scoring in all quarters. With a new 2m+ freshman, Watanabe Yasutaka, assisting Liu, the Yousen Shield Of Aegis maintains its defensive prowess. The regional competitor is not known for its sports program.

 **Game 2:** Yousen vs. Araya High School

Score: 123 - 18

Araya gets a bye and advances to second round automatically. Coach Araki lets Murasakibara off his leash, allowing him to score as much as he wants without including other team members in his play. He racks up an impressive 89 points singlehandedly. Yousen's new defensive tactic: just get Ukiyama the ball.

 **Semi-final:** Ugoushima High School vs. Yousen

Score: 2 - 81

With a stronger defense and one player dedicated to nothing but grabbing any potential Yousen rebounds, Ugoushima is at least able to contain some of the damage Yousen wreaks. Murasakibara breaks the basket on a dunk and manages to hit this very same rebound-dedicated member, which results in the Ugoushima possession that leads to their single successful basket of the match.

 **Final:** Yousen vs. Akitakougyou High School

_First quarter_

Jump ball. Murasakibara leapt for it and punched it nearly into Himuro's hands.

As his feet touched the earth once again he felt the court. Vibration in the parquet. The pressure of a shout from 8m away. The pressure of a warm body existing 3m away. These were not conscious thoughts and hadn't been for years. A sneaker squeaked and he felt, _that's where it's going to be._ So that's the way he went.

Two players crowded like flies around Himuro. He was boxed in near the line. A third player dashed in front of Murasakibara to halt his progress. He recognized the Akitakougyou center, a junior named Konoe, with a narrow face and rubbery onion in his sweat.

"Scuse me." Murasakibara mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It almost worked; Konoe's eyes widened as he visibly fought the habit of politeness. Murasakibara pivoted around him on one foot, extended one long arm behind his back, and received Himuro's pass with pleasant ease. Just to show off a little he passed to the new Yousen power forward, Hanamura Kenji, who was unobstructed as the focus was so intent on Murasakibara and Himuro.

Hanamura missed and Liu was there to grab the rebound and throw it back to Murasakibara. Murasakibara felt the ball smack his hands and thought without much heat about Konoe as he loped towards the basket. Konoe was shorter than the center that should have been here. Weaker, didn't have the same grip. Didn't hold on to the game the same way. The floating mountain lifted himself into the air for a slow-motion dunk. He didn't even have to look at where Konoe was going to be, because Konoe was like every other center he'd played this season. He'd be standing in the wrong place. Akitakougyou wouldn't get the rebound.

Everyone would break beneath his hand.

 

_Second quarter_

 He felt it in the heat of the lights and in the collection of movements of the Akitakougyou team. They clustered and swirled. Again he thought of insects and the irrelevance of insects. Walk past them like a path next to a pond and swat them away. 

He was getting ok at a kind of dribbling he'd never bothered with before, between the legs. He danced away from a defender and fired off a pass that rocketed far down the court. This whole game was happening in slow motion, like every other game in the prelims, like every other game of the season. The sensation of boredom did not touch his heart, which was full of white flames and the scent of disinfectant. He perceived the slow roll of eyes and the gleam of fatigue on Konoe's face and he smirked ostentatiously. 

 

_Halftime, fifteen minutes_

He didn't see anyone particularly important here tonight except his sister.

 

_Third quarter_

 His long fingers stuck to the ball and dragged it out of its course. A clean steal. The shape his hand made in the air was like  _tsu_ and at the end he exploded past the shocked Akitakougyou point guard: a fabulous leap,  3 or 4 meters of hang time. At the end of the dunk he hung on the basket and the audience shouted for it to break. It didn't, and he didn't care. The point guard fell back, demoralized, with a white gloss on his dark face.

Akashi must feel like this: knowing the end of everything. Knowing what's going to happen. The tension of the court, the velocities of the players, the impatience to score, the sweat of terror from future failures: he could feel it all, a low background hum. Like the keening of insects it could be ignored.

 

_Final quarter_

Score: Yousen 98, Akitakougyou 0

 

Emerging from the locker room, Murasakibara handed his bag of snacks and his duffel to the tall, slim girl with cocoa-brown hair to her waist. This was the Yousen validictorian, Hirano Aiba, captain of the women's volleyball team and already scouted for modelling. She took it, and also his jacket. He muttered something about the game to her, and she lifted her serene and beautiful face to him and said something congratulatory back. They strode down the hall like the natural champions they were. As they rode back on the Yousen away bus he let her lay her head across his lap as he toyed with her long hair and looked out the window. Himuro dribbled in the bus aisle.

Interhigh was in two weeks.

Two weeks to Seirin, the Tokyo-area prelim victors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * yall I am assuming j-school basketball goes by FIBA rules and not US varsity high rules (or NBA rules.) I assume this on the basis of "because."


	10. Rehabilitation: A Day In Late November

 

**6 am**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
The alarm went off. A large hand shuffled its way out from the folds of the quilts and sheets to slam the snooze button, hang briefly on the edge of the nightstand, then crawl back into the warmth of sleep. This process repeated at 5 minute intervals until 6:45, at which point Kiyoshi threw off his covers with tremendous energy, sat up, and picked up the clock to study it thoughtfully.

He was 15 minutes late to meet Hyuuga for a morning run (Kiyoshi to accompany on bicycle.) Panic ensued.

| 

Murasakibara Atsushi was asleep.  
  
 

**8 am**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
Hyuuga and Kiyoshi arrived at school. Hyuuga was red-faced and sweaty; Kiyoshi, carrying both their bags, pedalled alongside serenely, satisfaction upon his handsome face.

"Good morning, Kiyoshi-kun!" "Hey, Kiyoshi!" "G'morning Kiyoshi!"

All received with his habitual smile, wave, and greeting in return.

"...Do they not even see me??" Hyuuga complained.

"Maybe they don't recognize you." Kiyoshi beamed back.

| 

Murasakibara Atsushi was asleep.

   
  
 

**10 am**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
In English class, Kiyoshi Teppei stood at his desk and read  _Nothing Gold Can Stay_ , by Robert Frost, aloud. While his accent was pronounced, he managed all the words without difficulty, and even injected a little drama into the final line.

A pang in his heart. He seated himself and stared out the window.

| 

Murasakibara could still feel the warmth of his bed redolent about his flesh.

(A little over an hour ago his mother had stormed in to tear the covers from him, shrieking about school. She threw the curtains open and flung his school sack at him hard enough to sting.

For breakfast he drank a quart of chocolate milk in a single go while standing in front of the open fridge, ignoring the ongoing blistering scolding she directed at him. She then insisted on driving him to school in the delivery car. For the entire drive she fumed, malevolent and red-faced.)

Now seated in history, he declined to pay attention to the long list of World War II battles. The names and dates failed to penetrate his thick dreaming sludge and he stared out the window.  
  
 

 

**12 pm**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
Innocent Kiyoshi had no idea what he was in for when he pulled copies of Careers And Careering: A Manual, 5000 Jobs For The Future, Castaway In A Sea Of Jobs, and Don't Not Have Fun: How To Get The Job You Love (And Keep It) from the library shelves.

Hopeful and earnest effort became mild incredulity, then brow-runching open dismay, then a hesitance, a fearfulness to turn the page. Each page contained the promise of payoff after years of long hours, thankless ass-kissing, abasement, shit work, and of course the job duties proper, each one of which sounded worse than the last. They were all written in the same general tone, which called to mind the puppets on instructive shows for little kids: relentlessly peppy and simple. On one page he was exhorted to treat the customer to every consideration,  _including freshening their water in a timely fashion,_  and on the next page he was told, in exactly the same smiley bare-faced way, to obtain an advanced degree in architecture.

Kiyoshi frowned and reluctantly redoubled his efforts, feeling as if he had stepped into a wilderness.

| 

Aiba rested her empty bento box on his stomach. Murasakibara did not notice, as he was dozing in her lap with one of her fashion magazines spread over his face. She set aside the little jelly cup she packed for her dessert to give him once it's time to wake him up. Without a word of complaint she chatted with her friends over his slumbering bulk.

Her perfume smelled like cherry-flavored candy floss.  
  
 

**4 pm**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
From the dubious comfort of a folding metal chair, Kiyoshi watched the Seirin basketball team practice, shouting encouragement. He was able to help out with some passing drills. They left him feeling tremendously pent up.

| 

 After a 5km run with the team, Araki had Murasakibara drill on shooting from all over the court. Good timing. He had finally started to wake up around 3.  
  
 

**7 pm**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
 The physical therapist manipulated his long leg with two fingers tucked under the knee.

"Seems about like last week. Have you noticed any changes?"

"...Not really." He couldn't keep the note of worry out of his voice.

"You haven't been putting stress on it, right?"

"No."

"Okay, we're going to do some exercises with the bands today." He released Kiyoshi to dig into the cabinet at the side of the room, and pulled out a couple of long, thick pink elastic training bands. They looked like big loops of bubble gum and Kiyoshi found them pleasantly ridiculous.

| 

After practice the team went out for dinner together. Murasakibara sat next to Hanamura, the forward, and tried to get him to fuck up on flipping the okonomiyaki without actually jarring his arm. Hanamura was impervious to cracks about his basketball ability, his dating habits, whether there was a famous person in the next booth, whether a bee was about to land on him, pretty much anything Murasakibara could think of. Mission failed.  
  
 

 

**10 pm**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
Next to the futon was a little lamp shaped like a folded leaf and the light shone through it with a warm amber glow. Kiyoshi bent over and set the tray down first, then sat himself on the floor, elaborately careful to not bend his knee.

He pushed the tray close so Grandma could reach it without much effort. It wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself, but he felt better about it if he could take care of her even in a little way like this. She grinned at him and took her cup, a thick blanket over her legs, her back still straight. Grandpa didn't drink tea at night but he lay in the other futon propped on a buckwheat pillow and one hand tucked under his head.

Because of his appointments and after-class work this was the only time they would have to talk about their days. Grandpa complained about the incredibly noisy landscaping tools used by the neighbors. 

"That loud but do they offer to let me use it? No!"

Grandma asked Kiyoshi to rinse the sprouts (and turn over the pickles, groused Grandpa) before he left in the morning. And she read about his team today - though she stopped talking there. At some point she had gotten the idea that Riko and Teppei were fated to marry; she treated this as an inevitability, and as a consequence she was strangely unable to say anything nice about Riko ever.

Kiyoshi talked about the short chapter he'd read on civil engineering in the library that day and also about what a nice clear day it had been.

| 

In a late night cafe a white man with sandy blond hair and a rough face said in fluent, heavily accented Japanese, "How's it going, Atsushi?"

He'd gotten used to being called by his first name by these people quickly. Aside from a twinge of annoyance he didn't even notice it now. "Does it matter?" He sucked down another huge gulp of his float.

"Ha ha. Listen, how're you doing? Do you need anything? Still have some left from last time?"

"It's okay."

Chris Wright winced. Murasakibara Atsushi was possibly the deadest prospect he'd ever met up with in his life. It was useless to chat him up. He didn't make conversation. He never talked about his family or anything else. He didn't seem to notice or care about anything. 

It was a different story on the court, he knew that. He wouldn't have put up with this shit if it was the same guy on-court as off-court. But he'd been to the games. He was a believer. Just a pissed-off one.

"Aa. There's something." The twang of Murasakibara's whine cut in.

"Yeah? You know I'd love to help you out."

"Birkin bag. I need a Birkin bag."

Chris' face fell. "...That's kind of a stretch, Atsushi. Those are like..." He did the quick calculation in his head. "That's like a million yen or something."

"My girl wants one," Murasakibara answered in a tone of deliberate ennui.  
  
 

 

**Midnight**  
  
---  
  
_Kiyoshi_

| 

_Murasakibara_  
  
 Kiyoshi Teppei was asleep.

| 

 When he got home, Dad was watching TV (some variety show he wasn't paying attention to) and reading the sports page. He must have won at the track, since there were two big cans of Asahi already drained on the table and a third one in front of him. He had stripped down to his white undershirt and popped open his pants button and put on his wooden massager sandals. A big man with a perpetual grimace who gave off the feeling of amiable dirtiness, like an unswept but hospitable room.

Murasakibara wandered over to the fridge and helped himself to an Asahi. There were two more cans left. He sat at the low table with his dad and watched the TV without much interest. Two idols were competing to see who could slip and slide across a plastic sheet covered with whipped cream with their wrists and ankles bound. ("Daring Escape!", the segment was called.) Dad nudged the rest of the paper his way, like he would care about something like that. He didn't, and pushed it back so it would annoy the old man's elbow. When the old man fussed and shoved it out of the way, Murasakibara's mouth slanted slyly.

"D'you finish all your homework."

"Yeah."

"Home late."

"Yeah."

When Murasakibara finished his beer he got up, pitched the can into the recyclable trash in the kitchen, and went to bed.  
  
 

 


End file.
